#THEY’RE SO SALTY MY GOD

[hunterrrs]

yeah. sure. we should criticize sid more. yeah.

love people going off:

[watchyourbuck]

yes buddie marriage yes buddie endgame but you know which fucking fanon hd I will never move on from? buddie fucking in 2x01 right after their pissing match and being unable to keep their hands off each other bc they want each other so badly and it’s messy and nasty and disgusting and so fast GOD

[vampiremansionpoolboy-moved]

going insane over the fact that happiness and care and concern and love is underneath every interaction between newt and hermann in pacific rim

[butterflyeffectiooon]

Going into day 5 of salty boy hyperfixation and I think one of the best parts about it is the vocal layering. At first I mostly focused on dongmyeong’s voice bc I can… more feasibly sing his parts lmao but just now I’m really admiring giuk’s singing parts too, the contrast is so good and it’s incredible how STABLE they are performing this song!!! I loooove dongmyeong’s high tone voice and it’s crazy how high he can sing without even going into his upper register (from what I understand, don’t quote me on this) tho I also think he does an incredible falsetto, was rewatching his performances on the unit and in all day I really think he out sang yuchan and jun and I absolutely love both of them so this isn’t even a dig at them, dongmyeong is just built different lol. Then on the other hand I never really considered giuk’s voice to be particularly low but his parts on the chorus where dm (too lazy to type his whole name again 😭) comes in are ridiculous and maybe I just think that bc I have absolutely no range and can’t even hit the “subject” in the first line of dora maar (this post has a really niche audience probably comprised of just myself lmao) but the kid has stupid range for a “rapper” which I put in quotes not because he’s bad at rapping, he’s actually so good at that too, but because he has an INCREDIBLY versatile voice??? He can go soft and airy (see: my blue) to like that kind of shouty pop punk tone (see: omnipresent and most of his solo stuff) like he’s a star you don’t understand 😭😭😭 they both are!!! Not to mention the 3 other insanely talented members!!!! Anyway if I die without seeing onewe live I’m going to haunt the earth until I can attend their concert as a ghost and if I do see them live and they don’t do salty boy I’m not gonna ask for a refund bc everything they touch is unbelievably good but I will be bitter about it forever lmao

[figthoughts]

night time routine with bf!soldier boy ⋆·˚ ༘ *

— smut, est. relationship, oral (m. receiving) 18+

𝜗𝜚˚｡⋆

it’s almost funny how good you are; getting on your knees every night and taking ben’s thick pink cock. he forces his length in as deep as you can take it as you try your best not to gag around him.

he hums in approval with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, his lips covered in the foamy toothpaste with his eyes locked on you. jesus, you’re a sight.

you’re his good girl, looking after him on the floor of the bathroom; helping him wind down while he brushes his teeth— it’s routine at this point, taking his heavy cock that fits so snug in that sweet little mouth of yours.

“such a good little slut for me,” he chuckles with a mouth full of toothpaste as his eyes trace over you.

he pats your head condescendingly, like a dog, and keeps fucking his length deeper at a steady pace. your pretty wide eyes look up at him, trailing up from the tuft of hair right in front of your nose, to his jade green eyes. he smirks down at you, enjoying the way you take him so obediently.

god, you were his good girl. his best fucking girl.

you grumble around his cock at his head pat, earning another laugh from ben as he continues brushing his teeth. the sound of him brushing and the wet squelching noises from your mouth bounce off the tile of the bathroom.

his smug attitude is almost suffocating and his piercing stare makes your heart skip a beat. he loves having you like this, seeing your eyes well with tears as his tip hits the back of your throat with every damn thrust.

christ, you take him so well.

you’re actually a little convinced that he brushes his teeth torturously long on purpose, just wanting to keep his dick down your throat for as long as possible.

he’s a bastard like that, keeping you on your knees until they’re pink and tender while you try not to choke on him. you honestly don’t know how long you spend down there most nights. hell, as soon as he taps his tip against your lips, silently telling you to part them, your brain turns to mush and you take it anyway.

ben fucks your mouth how he knows you like it— like a good little slut for him. his free hand grips your hair into a makeshift ponytail, slamming your face against him. the way your throat tightens around his bulbous pink tip makes his breath catch in his throat. you’re just so fucking good.

when he finally cums, he keeps your face forced against his abdomen, forcing you to take every drop of his seed. he twitches and shoots his load into your throat without a care. the deep husky moans that escape him cause a warm heat to pool in your stomach. he’s just so incredibly sexy and masculine— it always makes you a little woozy.

“fuuuck, doll. such a good girl. my perfect fuckin’ slut,” he blabs on as he cums. his pretty green eyes are squeezed shut as his face contorts in pleasure; his brows pinched and his jaw dropped, taking in deep breaths.

a moan bubbles up your throat, bringing ben back to the moment as he comes down. his eyes drop to you and your pretty lips wrapped around him so perfectly. he enjoys the way you’re so messy with spit drooling out of your mouth.

“jesus, baby. nearly fuckin’ killed this old-timer, huh? you and that fuckin’ mouth,” he grunts out with a chuckle, his eyes tracing over your pathetic little face.

the warm salty flavour of him paired with his words make your pussy flutter in need. the tears finally spill from your eyes as you keep looking up at him; so helpless with his big dick shoved down your throat… just how he likes it.

ben pants and finally pulls his cock out with a grin on his lips, “show me.”

you know exactly what he means, so you look up at him and stick your tongue out, letting him see the filthy combination of his cum and your saliva filling your mouth.

“swallow,” he says firmly, leaving no room for debate. it’s not like you would anyway, you were his cockslut— even if you’d never admit it out loud.

as he watches your throat bob and mouth open again to prove you swallowed, he hums with a nod, “that’s it. good fuckin’ girl.”

ben pats your head… again, before yanking your face back with a fistful of hair. your jaw’s still slack as you pant, trying to catch your breath. you look up at him with your glassy eyes and messy swollen lips.

you look so pitiful and he just can’t resist; his spit lands perfectly in your mouth and he smirks. the minty flavour practically assaults your taste buds after being so used to the tangy taste of him, but nonetheless you swallow again and lick your lips, trying to clean the mess of drool from around your mouth.

“atta girl,” he coos mockingly, watching you swallow and your tongue swipe across your lips, “god, i’ll never get tired of that. you’re a fuckin’ treasure, doll. my stupid little girl.”

A/N: ahhh i’m alive!!! hi!! thank u for 900 followers???? so wild???? i’ve actually been so inactive recently it’s terrible omg so hey if u see this :P

feedback and reblogs are welcome ‘n appreciated! thank uuu!

—

✩ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4nicholas @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @atenea585 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @jackleslvr @winchester-whiskey @artyandink @emeraldcrs @freyabear @a1ecmcdowell @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @cosmicanakin @sl33pylilbunny @k-slla

↑ comment to be added!

[sh1-n0bu]

bello, not sure if your taking requests so this will be my little thirst😼

was thinking about the elf bf and how intimacy is so foreign to him! How good your touches feel on his heated skin but what was this odd feeling? The coil in his tummy getting tighter with each grind of his hips on your thigh. The feeling felt so weird.. it feels good? is this good? he doesn’t want to disappoint you, or worse, scare you away! so he stops himself, letting his hips slow their grind for a moment. Inadvertently edging himself!

id like to imagine if he touched himself he would stop before cumming as well, he doesn’t know what it is! it feels so odd, makes him feel hot all over!

After he slows his grinds, you would be a bit confused…, does he not want to cum? or does he want to wait til your inside him? it takes a bit before you even think that maybe he hasn’t gotten that far before, the idea that you get to corrupt him making your face heat. Goodness he would be so pretty, teary eyes begging for you to slow down. Hips bruised from how rough you had grabbed him!

and to think, when he finally cums? its so overwhelming. heat spreading through his body, mind numbing as his legs twitch slightly? his pretty cock leaking onto his stomach? GOOD LORD I NEED IT💥💥💥

ty for listening nobu🫶🏼 we love you pls dont die

(low key my first ask, hope you enjoyed as i dont write much)

bellooooo, me is not taking requests for now but im still open for brainrots/thirsts!!!!

good lawdddd y’all gotta stop corrupting me more, my horny level can’t keep up guys. so i haven’t read the history of middle earth and all abt the biologies and cultures of the races tolkien created but i have come across multiple posts or points of people pointing out that sex and intimacy is an extremely important and raw thing. like how a constant friction creates fire over time and how that fire spreads into a wildfire that consumes everything, that’s how it is to elves and their culture. courting is important and it could go for a very long time until they decide to officially tie the knot. yet even after getting married, the consummation won’t happen in a while, first the couple must at least intertwine their fëa (soul) and so, the consummation act is more intense and powerful. its a very draining thing, when elves fuck, they fuck. long and hard, probably all night and into the next morning and even evening perhaps. they’re immortals, they have a monster amount of stamina

so with this info in mind, u gotta realize that elves do have knowledge of sex, how it usually feels etc and how near sacred it is to their kin. love is a fragile thing that will cross their eternal life only once and when they love, boy do they love. yet something tells me that despite having knowledge of sex, masturbation and other fleshly pleasures, they don’t participate in it much. its like they barely have anything that gets them pent up or sexually frustrated until they fall in love. and if it is a mortal? oh boy, they are confused and yearning. it’s like an instant neuron activation for them

the poor elf would barely know what to do with these thoughts and imaginations of you and him in such a compromising position. images of you guiding him through your first times together, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into his sensitive, pointy ear while he shrivels with embarrassing noises on your lap. oh how those calloused, hardened hands would feel when tightly fisting at his cock, draining him dry and milking every last drop of his cum. how those long, thick fingers would feel when thrusting inside him, scissoring him open and making him squeal. good god, don’t even get him started on the dirty images he thinks of you when he looks at those arms and thighs of yours, he’s imagining himself riding that muscle until he soils his pants or how your hands would push his head down to fully swallow your cock into his throat

would it taste as how it is described in the eroticas? would your precum be salty as your thick cock head pushes past his soft lips with your soothing voice instructing him to “open wide, puppy”? would you be so mean as to fist at his gorgeous locks and fuck into his mouth, use him to your own pleasure? he would be a good puppy for that, taking whatever you had to give him with red cheeks and hands obediently held on his lap. like a good puppy, he would open his mouth, tongue out like an eager little dog waiting for the taste of his favorite snack as you stroke your dick, a low moan falling as he finally taste your load shoot into his awaiting open jaws

and when his dirty thoughts are finally granted and turned into reality? he’s a goner. scrambling on his feet, tripping over his words, mind blanking as he feels your hands grope his ass over the linen of his pants. feeling like a young ellon rather than the full grown elf he is when your hands fiddle with the buckle of your belt, gulping down the saliva in his mouth as he sees your strap spring out of your undergarment

with a shaky hand, he would grip your strap, meagerly stroking his hands up and down with a stuttered “i-is this okay…?” oh dear stars, how badly you wanted to just fuck him dumb right then and there, seeing the cute pouting lips, big eyes staring at you for an approval as he weakly asks for your preference. how fast he is to crumble when he feels your rough hand wrap around both your and his own dicks, stroking them together with a slow pace, occasionally spitting on them. his mind was already blanking, and he was sure that he had already came into your hand the moment you touched him

“w-wait a—annh!! mmh uhnng♡︎ h-hold owwnn♡︎ i ju-ust c-came! i came alreanngh already...♡︎!!” the poor elf weakly cried out, falling back into the sea of soft pillows as his hands shook by his chest, where he held them close to himself. he was sure you could hear the rapid beating of his heart, embarrassed by the noises he kept letting out despite biting down on his lips to shut himself up. poor sweetheart, doesn’t even know that the thing dripping down onto his stomach is his pre-ejaculation and not his cum! “shh shh… it’s alright, darling. i’ll be sure to teach you all about the fleshly pleasures tonight♡︎” and you were going to absolutely ruin him

sweet virgin elf who crumples into a heap of mess after experiencing his first cum. moaning and even squealing as his hands flailed around, unable to choose whether to hold onto your arms or to claw at the blanket beneath himself as you continue to keep going despite his whines of having already came. you were so mean, quickening your pace and even squeezing your dicks together, he was so sure that he blacked out when you first did that or swiped a thumb over his oozing tip. arms covering his face to hide the flush of his cheeks and the drooped ears, crying out to you that he was going to die. so dramatic

“sh-stooohpp..! stop stopstopstop—stop it♡︎♡︎! i came!! i nyaagh ungh guhc—came! i alreaawdyy camee…♥︎!” the elf cried out, already slurring his words together as his hips grind back and forth on the bed until your free hand comes up to keep it down in place with a bruising grip. your sweet boyfriend could only cry out, a broken whine falling as he shook his head, looking down at your hand that held down his hip before shifting to look at where your cocks were touching. held together in a tight fist, your hand already soiled with his cute load of precum as well as his stomach. he never noticed it before but gods, your strap was dwarfing him in size and girth. he would surely die if he takes that big thing inside himself!

but when you don’t seem to hear his pleas and only continue to fuck your strap and his weeping cock together in a faster pace into the tight grip of your fist — even rocking your hips forward too! — the poor elf was sure he was going to see the bright skies of valinor that night. whimpers turning into broken wails, punched out sobs of your name falling out of his now bloodied lips as he covers his face with his hands. he could feel the hot tears that fell from his eyes, wiping them away with cute pathetic sniffles as you tighten your fist just at the heads. another squeeze and one more before he was crying out your name in a shrill scream, his legs around your hips tightening, shaking even, as he finally feels himself cumming alongside you. translucent colored seeds mixing together, dirtying his stomach and even shooting up to his heaving chest

“…s-shoo goowdd… aaanh hhagc—♡︎ c-cum..♥︎ cumming ’gainn hhgaaa♥︎ ughk haahg [n-naawme], [namenamenamena—]♥︎♥︎” the elf sobbed out weakly, a putty in your hands as he feels his cock slowly grow flaccid. if it weren’t for the rough pads of your fingers tracing circles around his clenching rim and the feeling of your clean hand push away his hands from his face, your elf bf would have most definitely been sure that he had died and was re-embodied. yet despite the fuzziness in his brain and the way his blood seemed to circulate too quickly through his veins, his body unconsciously pressed itself against you, against your fingers as if seeking for more pleasure

thats enough thirsting yall, go do yalls assignments

[hoshifighting]

latino!mingyu

WARNINGS: smut, latino life, im jus kidding (ou não também), mentions of alcohol, flipping the cap before kissing you, fingering, oral, dirty talk, hair pulling, public-teasing, public-make out.

if nobody said it, i will. MINGYU LATINO!!! mingyu who, no matter where he is, somehow finds a reason to grab a beer, and yeah, it's gotta be ice cold. “wanna pilsen, babe?” he’s already tossing one your way before you can answer. like, let’s be real here, this man drinks anything that remotely resembles beer. pilsen, brahma, skol, corona? he’s down. anything to cool off that tanned, toned-ass body of his after playing fútbol/futebol/soccer, anyways, for way too long just ‘cause he knows you’re watching. and when that shirt comes off? goddamn, everybody in the surroundings is drooling. mingyu knows it too, that cocky grin spreading across his face, and you're just trying to act normal. but it’s impossible when the man is literally glowing under the scorching sun.

he danced at his cousin’s quinceanera/festa de 15. of course, he did. he’s that hot cousin, the one all the aunties fawn over, talking about how he’s grown up so well, while the guys on the block are salty ‘cause their girls won’t stop staring when he's shirtless walking in havaianas flip-flops. he’s out there, not giving a damn, smiling, swaying his hips to reggaeton with you, and trust—he’s glued to your ass like you owe him something. or clapping his hands and asking you to dance samba with him. you roll your eyes, but you’re lowkey hyped up by his attention. that man is always hyping you up, calling you “amor/cariño/gatinha/mama/bebe” like it’s a full-time job.

every party, every gathering, someone’s got him dancing with their cousin, their sister, their aunt even (and he’s good at it).

mingyu who comes to your ear, whispering dirty things, just to see you getting all wet. “you look so fuckin’ good tonight, mama. can’t wait to get you back home and ruin that dress.”

he says it like it’s a casual thing, with that smirk of his. the kinda smirk that says he knows you’re weak for him, the way you flush when he so much as drags his fingers up your arm. and he’s not wrong. you could play it off cool, but he’s already in your head, already got you thinking about what’s gonna happen later.

mingyu who's skin is so damn hot, like he’s a human furnace, and you swear it’s impossible to cuddle with him for too long without needing a breather. the dude radiates heat like no one else, and even though you love the way he wraps around you—those big arms pulling you tight, holding you like he’s never gonna let go—there’s always that moment where you’re like, “okay, I need to cool the fuck down before I melt into a puddle.” and he always laughs about it, gives you that lazy smile while you’re fanning yourself, like, “what? too hot to handle?”

but the thing is, it’s not just about the heat. there’s something else in the way mingyu touches u, like he’s always trying to get as close as possible. sometimes, he has no shame in it—like when he gets that look in his eyes, and next thing you know, he’s got you pinned against a random house on the street, his mouth crashing into yours. tongue and tongue and tongue, his lips moving against yours like he’s starving for you. his hands? they’re everywhere—flying down to grab your ass, squeezing like he owns it, pulling you closer, so you can feel just how bad he wants you.

and oh my god, when he turns his cap backward before kissing you? dead. you know it's coming—the way he runs a hand through his hair, then flips that hat around. it’s such a small move, but fuck, it drives you insane every time. like he’s gearing up for something more, and you know that look means he’s about to ruin you in the best way possible. no warning, he just dives in, lips pressing hard, tongue slipping inside your mouth, claiming you. he kisses like it’s his job—wet, messy, and so fucking good you lose yourself in it every time.

then there’s mingyu in bed. and the man’s got skills 😭, and he knows it. when he’s behind you, hands in your hair, pulling just enough to make your back arch, it’s game over. you’re a mess, and he’s thriving off it, low growls escaping him as he fucks you from behind, his hips slamming into yours with that steady, unforgiving rhythm. he’s so into it—one hand gripping your hair, the other on your waist, guiding you, pulling you back onto him. and he doesn’t just pull your hair like it’s a casual thing—oh no. he pulls it slow, but then suddenly he yanks harder as if he's silently telling you “this is mine. you’re mine.”

and don’t even get started on his fingers. mingyu’s got the best fingers, and he knows exactly how to use them. whether it’s slow and teasing, dragging it out until u’re practically begging, or fast and rough, working you up until you can barely think straight—he’s a pro at this shit. sometimes, he’ll have u spread out, fingers deep inside you, curling them, head bobbing as he sucks your clit. and he watches you fall apart under his touch? it’s like he’s studying every reaction, committing it to memory so he can wreck you even harder next time.

but the dirtiest thing about mingyu? it’s the way he talks when you’re in public and trying to keep it together. you know the type—when you’re at dinner or out with friends, and you’re trying to be normal, trying to focus on the conversation, but mingyu’s sitting next to u, whispering the filthiest shit in your ear. his voice is low, just for you, and no one else at the table has a clue what’s going on.

“bet you’re so fuckin’ wet for me right now, aren’t you, baby? can feel how bad you want it.”

and he says it all casual, like he’s not making you clench your thighs together under the table, trying to keep from giving yourself away. but he knows, and he’s not letting up. his hand brushes your leg under the table, fingertips barely grazing your thigh, and your heart’s pounding because you know what he’s doing.

“if i slid my hand up your skirt right now, you’d be soaked. don’t lie, mama. i can see it in your eyes.”

and it’s so fucking hard not to react, not to moan right then and there. but you can’t. you won’t. because you're in public, surrounded by people, and the last thing you need is to let everyone in on the fact that mingyu’s got you trembling in your seat. but he loves it, loves seeing you try to hold it together, that smug grin playing on his lips as he watches you squirm. “gonna take you home later,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “will make you cream on my cock, make you scream my name. don’t think you’ll be so quiet then.”

it’s all you can do to keep breathing, to keep pretending like you’re fine when, really, all you want is for mingyu to make good on every dirty promise he’s whispered in your ear. and you know he will.

[insert-name-heres-things]

Happy Disability Pride Month!!!

Remember Folks:

- SELF CARE IS NUMBER ONE

- Use your spoons sparingly! Here’s some spoons to go: 🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄

- Clean your mobility aids! (Seriously dude when was the last time you wiped that shit down with an antibacterial?)

- Accommodate yourself, as others will follow.

- Make goals within your reach and abilities

- DO YOUR COPINGS SKILLS

- Remember to stay hydrated and take your meds!

- For my fellow heat sensitive homies, stay cool this summer! A cold rag draped behind your neck, airy clothing, a small portable hand fan, keeping ice packs ready, cold water and expecially cold electrolyte drinks, all do wonders!

- For my fellow autistic folks, don’t be afraid wear earmuffs, stim, use chew charms, whatever it is that helps you regulate. You don’t have to mask if it’s something that isn’t benefitting to your life.

- POTS havin mofos like me, salt the ever loving fuck out of your food. Try different foods with salt, such as fruits and vegetables! I’m currently eating a salty tomato. Drink lots of water, I’ve been aiding gateraid packets to my water and it’s made a HUGE difference, especially as someone who hates drinking water.

- Those with PTSD for whatever reason, I wish you safety and support as you learn to cope and hopefully heal.

- I don’t know exactly what to say to others with H-EDS, as I’m still understanding this disorder other then BE CAREFUL WITH YOURSELF THIS PRIDE MONTH. I swear to god we are the most accident prone mother fuckers lmfao-

- If your immune system is all fucky like mine, keep clean and be sanitary, communicate with others that if they’re sick you can’t be around them, and wear a mask if you feel like that’s the right option for you. In my hometown I’ve gotten yelled at more than once for wearing a mask post-covid, however you can’t let someone else’s ignorance result in your own suffering.

- Don’t forget to move around and stretch! A little movement can do a lot for your body.

- Check in with your disabled friends! Try and see if there’s any way you can help one another, see where both of your strengths and weaknesses lie, and swap some spoons!!

- Be aware of what triggers your disorders. Whether if it’s caffeine triggering bipolar episodes, the weather causing fibro flares, big changes causing meltdowns, overexerting your hypermobility, whatever it is, it matters. Listen to your body and mind.

- Don’t be afraid to call out that doctor who isn’t listening, dismissing your symptoms and medically gaslighting you.

- While it may not seem like a big difference for some, trust me when I say your appetite is so important! Remember if it comes down to it, that it’s better to eat something, ANYTHING, than nothing at all. 

- To that person who might be hesitant, ashamed or might be questioning wether or not they should use a mobility aid, if it’s the difference between you being stuck at home vs going out and living some life… USE THAT MOBILITY AID!!! Same goes for braces and any other tool that may help you live a better quality of life.

- Be accepting towards those with disabilities different then your own- remember this month isn’t a competition about who’s struggling the most, rather to understand that people of physical, psychological, sensory, neurodivergence, and even undiagnosed disabilities all share one thing in common.. WHICH IS BEING DISABLED!

- Doesn’t matter who you are, how young or old, black or white, thick or thin - the disabled minority is one you can end up becoming a part of at any time, and likely will if you live long enough. Disability doesn’t discriminate, so EVERYONE should be advocating for disabled people’s rights.

- And of course, have pride in being disabled. This shit is fucking hard, but if you’re reading this, you’re doing it. Just being here today and doing what you can handle or manage, is doing your best, and that’s enough. You don’t have to push yourselves to impossible lengths to be proud of yourself.

Here, have the disability pride flag:

[coryosbaby]

Alternative Payment <3

♡ content warning! Mdni, 18+ , innocent! Reader, manipulation, dark! Coryo

The guards of the cage are too easy to impress. As Coriolanus zig zags his way to the exhibit, he catches sight of you at the farthest corner. Your back is against a nearby rock, your eyes wide open unlike the other Victors. When you see him, you scramble to the bars. He smirks, watching your doe eyes look up at him through fluttering lashes.

“Did you bring food?” You ask your mentor desperately. Coriolanus nods, reaching into his bag to pull out a bottle of water and a sandwich made of wheat bread and ham. You take it, and begin to nibble on the sandwich eagerly. Coriolanus watches with something quite unclear in his gaze.

“Have they fed you at all?” He asks.

You shake your head, wiping bread crumbs off the corner of your plump lips.

“No. They didn’t give us water, either,” you explain, and begin to open the bottle that was graciously gifted to you. “Thank you, Coryo!”

Oh, so sweet. A girl with manners. Coryo looks back at the other victors. They’re all heavy sleepers.

When you finish up the sandwich, you chug the rest of the water down and hand the empty bottle back to him. He puts it back into his bag. You wipe your mouth, looking up at him with an almost happy grin on your face.

So innocent.

“Mmm..” Coryo takes in the sight of your pretty face, caked in dirt and twigs and god knows what else, and something twitches in his pants. “Got you something else, too. For my favorite victor.”

“Really?” Your eyes shine with curiosity. “What is it?”

Coryo chuckles. His fingers reach through the bars and smooth back your hair.

“Close your eyes.”

Your brows furrow, but you obey. As your lids flutter shut, you hear the sound of something clacking together.

“If you’re good and do what I say,” Coryo continues. “Then I’ll give you something else to eat. Okay?”

“Okay..” you say innocently, the grumbling of your tummy ever so prominent.

You jump. Something wet and warm touches your lips, and you hear Coryo let out a shaky sigh.

“Open up,” he breathes. “And don’t bite.”

Confusion riddles your face, but you obey simultaneously. The thought of food is heavy on your mind.

When the mysterious, meaty thing slides onto your tongue, your taste buds explode with something musky and salty. You hear coryo let out a whine, and the thing moves farther to the back of your throat. Your tongue brushes over it curiously, and Coryo lets out the loudest moan. Fear courses through you at the thought of the other victors waking up and seeing that your mentor is giving you something extra, but you swallow it down— sort of like the way you swallow down this mysterious wet thing in your mouth.

“God,” Coryo heaves. “Such a pretty little face.”

The thing in your mouth moves out, then back in again roughly. You let out a gag, your eyes welling with tears. You lave over the tip of the thing when it’s pulled back out onto your tongue again. Something slaps against your chin each time that it presses flush against your lips.

“Fuck,” Coryo says from above you. “Open those eyes f’me. Cmon, don’t you wanna see your present?”

You do want to see what’s inside your mouth, so with fluttering eyelids you obey.

It’s hard to see at first. You vision blurs, then clears. Coryo is above you, as you can see through the bars.And the thing in your mouth is…

Attached to him?

Okay, so you know basic anatomy. You know what it is— only, you don’t know exactly what it’s used for. Your eyes widen, seeing the look of bliss on his handsome face, the way his big hands grip each side of the prison bars like his life depends on it. He’s thrusting his hips into your mouth— that thing, a cock, as you heard the boys in your district call it, is slamming against your throat at a rapid pace. Looking up, Coryo’s eyes connect to yours and he laughs. It’s unsettling, a tiny giggle in the back of his throat, and you can’t help but feel something. Tingling, perhaps. In the same spot on you that Coryo’s cock is connected to.

“Suck it like a lollipop.”

Coryo’s words make you mewl, the remembrance of sugary sweets making your stomach swirl.

“Oh, honey,” Coryo continues, as you begin to lave over his aching cockhead. “Y’want one of those, don’t you? I’ll give you one, a special little treat. Tomorrow, before the games.”

You want to cry, just from the thought of a cherry flavored lollipop. You suckle him, just like the boy had asked, desperate to please him and get your stomach full. It isn’t long before his hips are stuttering, abs tensing, and his mouth is letting out quiet degradations.

“Dirty girl. Yeah, ‘m gonna cum. Gonna fill up that little tummy, baby.”

He demands that you pull off, let him move his hand up and down his shaft while your tongue lolls out. When his cum hits your taste buds, you let out a whimper. Not that good tasting, but not bad, either. However, the spot in between your legs begins to tingle more— and hurt. God, it hurts, and you can’t stop squirming to try and get relief. Looking back, you pray that no one had saw your endeavor with your handsome mentor.

When he tucks himself back into his pants, you’re still waiting impatiently.

“Sir?” You question Coryo softly. “Can I have something else to eat, now?”

Another unsettling giggle.

“Silly girl,” he says. “You already did.”

[misspygmypie]

Gourmet Disaster Cookies - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Warning: None Summary: Lando and you bake cookies. What could go wrong?

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando’s eyes narrowed at the mess sprawled across the kitchen table. Flour dusted the counter like snow, sugar was scattered like confetti, and an oversized mixing bowl sat in the middle, its contents a questionable shade of brown. Despite the chaos, the smell of fresh-baked cookies wafted through the air, combined with the scent of his frustration.

“Stupid. So stupid. My God. I’m so done with your shit,” he mumbled, shaking his head in exasperation. His dark curls were a mess from running his hands through them repeatedly, flour sprinkled in.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Lando with a barely contained smile. “I don’t think you’re actually done with this,” you said, voice dripping with amusement.

Lando shot you a look that could’ve murdered you. “I’m not doing this again,” he said firmly, though you both knew his words were empty threats.

It had started as a simple suggestion: baking cookies together on a lazy Saturday. You had hoped it would be a relaxing activity, a way to spend time together. What you hadn’t anticipated was Lando’s complete lack of ability to produce anything edible in the kitchen.

He had, with great enthusiasm, insisted on making cookies from scratch. You had watched, bemused, as he struggled to measure ingredients, with flour explosions and sugar spills becoming a regular occurrence. The recipe seemed to mock him with each step. When it called for “a pinch of salt,” Lando had interpreted it as “a handful,” resulting in cookies that were both salty and sweet in the most bewildering way.

“Well, you see,” you said, strolling over and peeking into the mixing bowl, “the recipe called for way less salt for starters.”

Lando sighed dramatically, slumping onto one of the barstools that wasn’t covered with some kind of ingredient. “I swear, I followed the instructions. But you were too busy talking about how we should add extra chocolate chips…”

“Hey, extra chocolate chips were a great idea!” you interrupted, though you knew his complaint was valid.

He shot you an incredulous look. “Yes, extra chocolate chips in cookies that taste like cardboard was definitely a great idea.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his defeated expression. “Well, you did say you wanted to make them ‘extra special.’”

Lando rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I wanted them special, not… whatever this is.”

You crossed the kitchen and gently nudged him with your elbow. “Well, how about we try to salvage the situation? Maybe turn this into a fun, new recipe? Like ‘Gourmet Disaster Cookies’?”

Lando’s expression softened, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Gourmet Disaster Cookies? Really?”

“Why not?” you said, reaching for the jar of sprinkles and shaking it over the remaining dough. “It’ll be a new culinary adventure.”

He watched, still skeptical but intrigued, as you turned the doughy catastrophe into a playful mess of sprinkles and smiles. “Alright, alright,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Next time, we’re sticking to pre-made cookie dough.”

You laughed and gave him a playful nudge. “Deal. But for now, let’s just enjoy our ‘Gourmet Disaster Cookies.’”

The two of you sat down with the cookies, which were now covered in a generous layer of colorful sprinkles. The cookies were oddly shaped and unevenly baked, some corners almost charcoal black, some spots suspiciously raw looking - BUT the presentation was kind of festive. You took a bite, exaggeratedly savoring the taste.

“Not bad!” you said through a mouthful, trying to sell them to the curly-haired Brit watching you.

Lando took a cautious bite, and his face lit up in surprise. “You know what? These actually aren’t terrible. They’re weird, but… not terrible.”

As you both laughed and enjoyed the cookies, the kitchen mess seemed to fade into the background. The burnt edges and odd flavors were nothing compared to the joy of the shared experience.

After finishing off the batch, Lando stood up and stretched. “I can’t believe we actually ate those.”

You chuckled, tossing a stray piece of dough into the trash. “We did. And I think we might have created a new tradition.”

Lando grinned, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Next time, we’re definitely using pre-made dough. But until then, I guess we’ve got our own ‘Gourmet Disaster Cookies’ to remember.”

The day ended with the kitchen still looking like a war zone, but you didn’t mind. As you and Lando cleaned up together, your laughter echoed through the room, making the mess seem less like a disaster and more like a cherished memory.

In the end, it wasn’t about the cookies. It was about the moments you shared, the laughter, and the way even a cooking disaster could turn into a delightful adventure when you had the right partner.

[egglain]

Go Ahead & Cry (I’d Wipe Away All Your Tears)

incl.: nanami, choso, toji, gojo, geto, sukuna

summary: for a group of men who kill for a living, they’re awfully sweet… most of the time. AKA: how the jjk men comfort you

a/n: ngl i’m writing this bc i’m finally processing the US election results & i just… can’t deal. my heart goes out to all of you. pls take care of yourselves & enjoy the drabbles 🫶

Nanami

Nanami would be the first to notice something is off.

Whether you’re both at home and you’re just a bit too quiet, or he hasn’t heard from you by his lunch break while at work, something is distinctly off.

He wouldn’t be the nosy type, or the type to press. He’d bring home a sweet treat and a sentimental good (a potted flower, a stuffed animal, something that reminded him of you) without a word.

He wouldn’t pity you; far from it. And he’d never want to make you feel like that. So he’d leave the gifts on the coffee table and greet you with a kiss to the forehead, like always.

He’d sit in silence with you as if nothing was awry— allow you to feel your emotions. He’d put on a movie you like, something mindless and upbeat, without asking. Drag you to his chest and hold you there, keeping you warm and grounded in his touch.

If the waterworks start up, he’d rub your back with a large hand and press kisses to the part of your hair.

“That’s it. Get it out. I know.”

Choso

Choso is either too emotionally in-tune or completely clueless until the tears start.

But when he knows you’re upset, he feels it too.

He gets it wrong a lot of the time, at the beginning— tries to pry the cause out of you so he can minimize it. In his defence, he does it with good intentions; tries to help you see that the perceived threat is small in the greater scheme of things, that everything will work out.

But when the tears start welling, he knows he’s fucked up.

And god, is he so sweet trying to fix things.

“So sorry—“

He’d kiss the salty tears off your cheeks without hesitation.

“How do I make it stop?”

His bleeding heart is his biggest weakness and his greatest strength.

You wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the day, as he tries to make things up to you. Cooking (though he burns the bottom of the pan), cleaning (though he spills the food and has to clean again), and cuddles would be the itinerary.

Though he loves to be little spoon, he’d let you rest in his arms as long as you need it. And once you find a spot in his arms, he wouldn’t dare move.

Toji

Toji is not great with words. Or gifts. Or quality time, really.

Despite his best intentions, he always manages to fuck it up somehow. Usually by minimizing your feelings with a “what now?” or a “‘s not a big deal.” or a “nothin’ to cry over.”

It’s not his fault you cry over the little things & that you look so cute doing it. Those fat tears and reddened cheeks scratch the sadistic part of his brain so good.

That being said, he’s learned what you like over the years. Even stopped scoffing when he senses you’re feeling down.

No, he’s developed a plan.

At the first signs of distress (he’s gotten really good at recognizing these), he’s got you in his arms. If he’s at work, you better bet he’s speeding things up and hauling his ass back.

He wrestles you into his big clothes; don’t even think about fighting him on this. He wants you comfy and cozy. He’d be setting you up on the couch, dragging the comforter down from the bedroom to wrap you up. He’d sit there with you for hours, massaging your feet or calves and ordering food in. Your favourite fast food— and a whole lotta ice cream.

Don’t take advantage of his kindness though; he’s still Toji. Any snide comments, and he’d be quick to snap back.

“Shut up n’ let me take care of ya.”

Gojo

Gojo’s a little… misguided when cheering people up most of the time. That is, unless you find his goofy antics comforting.

He’s known for draping himself over shoulders obnoxiously, pinching and pulling cheeks, and light jabs that crack (only) him up.

When that doesn’t work, it’s a quick fix— thanks to the seemingly unending pit of his black card.

Gojo Satoru, at his core, is a gift giver.

Nothing pleases him more than sharing things with you that he thinks will bring you joy— whether that’s an expensive physical present or a luxurious vacation abroad.

He’s wrapped around your little fingers and a sniffle would have him buckling at the knees and fumbling for his wallet.

While this might look like a cop out— a way to get out of emotional intelligence duty— it’s just one part of his approach. The man is actually quite sensitive and understanding once you dig beneath the layers of persona. And he can be surprisingly mature— though he’d never want to show that side to most of the world.

He’d always listen to your yapping, validating your feelings— he’d take your side always. And he is a pro at shit-talking. At the end of it, you always come out feeling a little bit better. A little bit stronger.

You are the strongest together, after all.

Geto

Suguru is a problem-solver.

He’d sit and motion for you to lay your head on his thighs. Long elegant fingers would make gentle work of your roots and scalp, and the tension would be melting away. When you’re relaxed enough to breathe, he’d want to hear all the venting.

“Now do you want solutions or just my ear?”

He’s your rock; always puts things into perspective if you ask. He’s always got advice— though sometimes clouded by bias. Still, it’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone who actually listens.

Understands.

The flipside, however, is the darkness you find in him. He understands what to do because he’s hurt too. You can see it in the way he carries himself, in the bags under his eyes and the shake of his hands on the bad days.

But you care for him like he cares for you— braid his hair back, let him talk it out, gift whatever advice you can muster.

And as soon as you’re both feeling better, you’d be getting crêpes with the girls.

Sukuna

The King of Curses does not understand human sadness.

Perhaps he had empathy for it, centuries ago, before he became the Two-faced Spectre.

But now, seeing you upset, all he can think of is how pathetic tears look in reddened eyes.

He’d wipe them away with a big thumb, clicking his tongue.

“Unsightly, pathetic little thing.”

Yet, the way he speaks down to you holds a softness. A protective nature he rarely gives voice to.

He’d treat you like a porcelain doll; a prized possession. No measure was inconvenient when it came to appeasing you— though he’d be quick to reprimand entitlement. And vehemently deny any sort of feeling towards you.

When the tears come, he’d be signalling for Uraume to draw a bath and cook your favourite. You’d find your room tidied, trinkets left on the foot of your bed as if dragged in by a wild animal— an ornate dagger, gold jewellery, incense.

He wasn’t one to demonstrate affection— but he’d keep you close on the tough days. Whether it be making a seat for you on one of his hulking thighs or allowing you to sleep in his quarters, he’d allow you to do as you please.

[foli-vora]

pretty boy

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: This gif should be fucking illegal. There I was, just minding my own business at 12.30am thinking ‘hey I should probably get some sleep’ and then bam—suddenly I was obsessed with needing to suck this man’s dick. So here we are—enjoy.

This is a drabble of 500+ words and I can’t be bothered tagging so yeah.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY: oral sex (m), swallowing, the need to have this man weak and whiny at my fingertips… look, this is probably a mess but idgaf

-

He’s so fucking thick.

An ache is quick to build in your jaw, your mouth straining uncomfortably as his cock disappears beyond your lips. He hits the back of your throat and you inhale sharply to push just that little bit further, to take him deeper, to drive him closer to that sweet edge you’d been teasing him with.

You fight the discomfort eagerly, practically hanging onto every little whine and exhale that falls from his lips. He always sounds so fucking pretty, breathless from being lost in his pleasure and full of praise for every inch you take greedily.

He never knows where to put his hands, and you’d laugh if you didn’t have the solid length of him heavy and throbbing against your tongue.

His fingers trace your cheek, glide over where your lips part around the width of him, swipes through the saliva that gathers at the corner and spills down your chin. They curl around the back of your head, and you tremble from the strength you feel lingering behind his touch, the temptation to hold you steady and fuck up harshly into your mouth almost overcoming his patience.

One day you’d break him. One day. 

His hands move again, quickly coming to rest over yours where they’re spread out across the scarred expanse of his hips, holding him in place. He’s quick to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeking a physical tether to the world as he drowns in an endless void of ecstasy. 

A brief tang of salty precum oozes from the tip of his cock and sinks into your taste buds as you pull back enough to take a breath, and your tongue drags over the smooth head firmly before gently rubbing along the lower side where you feel his frenulum, massaging the spot over and over and over—

He jolts, toned stomach jumping at the sensation and you groan weakly around him, eyes fluttering as he bucks into your mouth. He’s close. You hear it in the way his lips form the plea of sweetheart, the way he helplessly cries out for his God and begs for that little push over the edge.

Please, sweetheart. Just a little more, j-just like that—God, please, yes—

He erupts on your tongue with a flood of thick heat and a delightfully filthy moan that has your weeping cunt clenching from the low obscene rumble of it, and you swear you’ll never get enough.

You swallow it all down eagerly, tongue rolling over the length of him until he finally starts to soften in your mouth and his thighs start to shake from overstimulation. You pull away and let him fall from your lips with a low pop before delivering a final kiss to his thigh and standing. You resume dressing, fingers numb from his tight hold and slow as they try to continue buttoning your shirt as the morning light filters through the window. 

He pants into the air of the bedroom, a blissed out, tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he swims in his post orgasm waves, “What was that for?”

“You’re just so damn pretty, Matthew.”

[himbofan4444]

“Another day…” I say to myself as I walk through the parking garage. The is air still damp from the rainstorm yesterday. I look around. The garage is oddly vacant. Perhaps I’d come in when the buildings closed again. Determined to finish the day and get home quickly, I trudge past the puddles and cigarette butts. “God it’s freezing,” I say to myself, shivering.

I look around again. I’m used to a long walk to the stairs but today’s feels… really long. I can’t see my car but that’s all thanks to the thick fog that has been settled in town for a few days. I can’t see the stairwell either. The only thing I can see is the fog surrounding me. I sigh and continue my trek forwards, unsure if I’m even moving forwards anymore.

After a few more minutes of walking, I stumble upon an odd sight. In front of me is a shopping booth, something I’ve never seen the liking of before here. A faint concoction of aromas reach my nose: a strange mix of perfume, wood, leather, and some other implacable scents. At the booth stands a broad man. On the table, there are a variety of brightly colored liquids contained in erlenmeyer flasks. The man waves me over, a toothy grin across his dark, bearded face.

“Well hello there fine fellow! How can I help ya?” the man asks. His voice is gravelly and deep, the kind of voice that makes you weak in the knees.

“Oh, I’m not interested in buying anything, sir. I’m just trying to find the stairs,” I respond.

The man lets out a hearty laugh, “Please, call me Rohan! And I insist. I’ll even give you a hefty discount.”

I eye the flasks, taking in the colorful liquids. Each is bubbling and emanates an odd warmth, much preferable over the freezing air of the rest of the parking garage. “So, what are they?” I ask.

“Oh, just some herbal remedies. They’re very common in holistic medicine,” Rohan says, lifting up to of the flasks. “Would you like one, sir?”

“Oh I’m not sure if I should. I’ve tried these things before and they haven’t… agreed with me,” I say, letting out a small chuckle.

“Don’t you worry about that, sir. These are all natural. I insist, try one. Here,” Rohan picks up a pink one and holds it out for me. I reluctantly grab it and give him a half-smile. “That’ll be $5, sir,” Rohan says as he holds out his large palm. I search through my wallet and find a crumpled up $5 bill and hand it to him. He smiles and says with a certain satisfaction, “Have a lovely day, sir!”

I walk off with the flask in hand, still unsure of where the stairs are. I check my phone for the time. Shit! I’m late! I briskly walk through the parking garage but to no avail. I’m still lost. At least until I see my car. Damnit! I just walked in a big circle! Exhausted and angry, I get in my car and sit down. The car is almost as cold as outside, a small remnant of the heating still present. I start the car, deciding to head home.

Before I can put my foot on the gas pedal, my gaze drifts down to the flask in the passenger’s seat. “I should probably drink that…” I say to myself. I reach down and grab it, bringing the beverage to my lips. It smells like perfume. I lift the flask, the contents of which pouring into my mouth and down my throat. It’s almost unbearably sweet. So much so that it’s almost bitter. There’s also a strange salty aftertaste. I cough and drink from my water bottle, the flavor lingering in my mouth.

I drive home in silence, allowing myself to be bitter about today’s events as of now. As I drive home, I notice an odd, unfamiliar tingling in my butt. I itch it but it doesn’t help. “Maybe I just worked legs a little too hard yesterday,” I say with a shrug. Soon, my whole body feels tingly, almost numb. My work clothes begin to feel a bit tight on my body, specifically my pants. I’m sure I grabbed the larger size I have but maybe I didn’t. This morning was quite hectic after all. I shrug off the odd occurrence and continue my drive home.

On the way home, I pass a Starbucks and turn into the parking lot. I usually don’t buy such frivolous things, but I’d already bought that horrible drink so why not? As I walk inside, I notice a strange quality to my walking. Usually I have a quite confident strut but that has been replaced by something almost like a waddle. Odd.

Once inside, I’m finally warm. The warmth of the store is so refreshing. Before ordering, I sit at a table by the window. Sitting here feels weird. I’m not used to this amount of cushioning on these chairs but maybe I misjudged them. I take off my winter coat, setting it on the high top table in front of me. I catch a glimpse of my arms in my tight dress shirt sleeves. Jesus! I’ve always been in shape but I’ve NEVER been this big. I flex a small bit, blushing at my public flexing session. Damn, the gym’s been doing me good recently.

A short blonde barista walks over to me. She’s very cute but my still bitter attitude puts a damper on my lustful looks. She pulls out a notepad and a pencil, “Would you like anything sir?”

“Oh no-“ I clear my throat. My voice sounds less deep than normal for some reason. “I mean, sure. Could I have a vanilla latte?” Why did I order that? I always order black coffee, never that girl shit. The barista smiles and nods, writing my order down, “Got it. Is that all?”

“Yes ma’am,” I respond. Handing her the money for the beverage.

She walks off, immediately going to make my drink. I rub my throat. Why do I still sound so weird? She comes back over, my drink in hand. “Here you go sir,” she says, “Oh and by the way, I love your hair. Blonde is so your color. You look fabulous.” She walks away to serve other customers.

What? Blonde? I’m not blonde. I’ve always had brown hair. And… fabulous? Who does she think I am? One of those queers? Does my hair really look blonde to her? I pull out my phone and look at myself in the selfie camera. Jesus! My hair IS blonde! And it looks… curly. What the hell happened?! And my face… It looks off. Something is uncanny about it. I look like myself but also not… Like my lips look bigger and so do my eyes. My eyebrows look a bit neater than they should and my stubble is shorter than normal.

I get down from the stool, ready to leave and deal with this weird stuff at home. As I walk out, I feel a strange jiggling in my rear. I crane my neck around my shoulder to see what was going on with my butt. Holy shit! My ass is huge! I run out to my car, my big fat ass jiggling like crazy as I run. I quickly drive home.

Once inside, I strip off my damp clothes to assess the damage. My muscles do look bigger than normal, especially my pecs. They look like fucking tits. Jesus, they’re huge. My ass is enormous, any movement causing it to jiggle wildly. And that tingling in my ass still hasn’t gone away. I look like a poster fag. Like the dictionary definition of a faggot. Fuck…

I go up to my room and find a cardboard box on my bed. After opening it, I see a huge pink dildo and a pink jockstrap, both the same color as the drink. The dildo is easily a foot long. I shiver in disgust looking at the items. An odd feeling comes from my ass. My ass is tingling worse than before, specifically directly in my asshole. God I just wanna shove that dildo up my ass… No! I can’t be thinking like a fag! Looking like one is bad enough!

I shove the grotesque items back into the box and chuck the box across the room. I look at myself in the mirror, hesitantly touching my pouty lips. They feel almost numb, as if they aren’t real. Come to think of it… I feel my pecs and my ass, both having the same numb tingling. Oh my god…

My body stiffens up, my back arched, showing off my large muscle tits and fake fuckable ass. Goddamn why am I thinking like that? Against my will, my buff arms reach up and turn my baseball cap, which had gone from a cream color to a black and pink one, backwards. It’s like a switch got flipped. My brain goes from active and agile to slow and dull. MY thoughts become more lustful and… gay.

Damn, I wish Rohan fucked me earlier. He like totally has a huge dick. I pout, crossing my arms across my inflated chest. My heads turns, facing the discarded box. My body prances over to the box and extracts the faggy… I mean sexy things. I pull the pink jockstrap over my big round ass, doing a few hops to see my bubble butt bounce in the elastic material. I snatch up the massive dildo and lay in my bed, my thick beefy legs spread out. My body instinctively shoves the dildo as far up my ass as it can.

My hole feels oddly loose despite the lack of penetration it’s received. My brain pushes those thoughts into the garbage, conjuring up new memories of me being fucked by hoards of men, each hung like a horse and concerningly aggressive. I let out shrill, feminine moans with each thrust of the toy. Each thrust causes my room and house to become more pink and slutty looking. My wardrobe emptying of my work clothes and instead having pink slutty outfits. My bed begins vibrating, my old bed replaced with a vibrating one.

I cum out of my shrunken cock, my small load leaving me gasping for air. I’ve never felt this much pleasure in my whole life! I sit on my knees in front of the full length mirror in my room and take a picture for my Daddies.

This is me now, a stupid, horny, bouncy slut for any man who’ll take me in for the night.

[wakeup01]

Slip ‘n Slide

(2,000 follower special)

On the floor. Now! Put your face where it feels like it should belong bitch! Fuck, you can’t help doing what you’re told, can you? Good. I could tell by the first message you sent me, you were a needy slut. Message after message, needing validation, my attention. My time. But my time comes with a cost. Now it’s time to pay. Let’s get this done while your mind is horny and numb. Feel your body start to become more pliable. Compressing down, reshaping. Let it wrap around my smelly foot. Don’t resist, just let it happen. Let yourself become what you were destined to be. You don’t need arms, don’t need legs. All you need is an opening for my feet to rest; so open wide and let my foot stretch you out. You don’t need to move, to speak. You just need to exist, to be present. To complete the pair. To sniff and suck for eternity. A simple rubbery form designed to cushion my steps. Covered in a bunch of branding to signify your role as a product, uniform and non-unique. Disposable. A slide.

Size 11. That’s what you are. A size 11, Adidas slide. It’s what your label says. That’s how I’ll refer to you. ‘My size 11 adidas slide.’ What I’ll tell people when they notice you. ‘Yeah they’re new, look well sick, don’t they?’ And no one will question otherwise. No one will ever wonder why you smell of feet, why you don’t move or talk, or why you’re left lying on the ground - it’s just normal. You’re a literal footnote, barely worthy of remark.

No, you don’t belong to me, you belong to my chavvy feet. My toes, my arch, my sole. They own you. And my feet are gonna make sure you know that all too well. Your job is to protect them after all. That’s really the only use a filthy slide like you has. And I wear my slides without socks. How else am I going to make sure you smell like my sweaty feet? My juicy toes pushing into you day after day. Listening as the world goes by without your presence as if nothing had happened. Smelling my intoxicating scent as I hang out. Watching as the floor flies by underneath you while you worship my sole.

You WERE a person - had a name, a personality, and now you’re a fashion item for me to show off. Hate it all you want right now, but it won’t take long until you regard yourself as such too. Your mind irreparably warped by my constant heavy impression. By the bitter, salty musk clinging to your entire length. Soon enough, you’ll be happy to do your job. Feeling privileged for my kindness. Proud of that label sewn into you. That barcode number. Smelling my cheesy boy feet was something I chose for you. It must mean you did something right, right?

And you did. You whiffed my feet and gave up your body for something better. Something smellier.

An assortment of cheap materials. My slide. My latest fucking conquest. Accept my foul foot as your new god and prepare to fucking worship the sweat dripping from it. You’re finished!

Hahaha. Glad to add you to the collection, loser. Why should I ever have to buy footwear when there’s plenty of pathetic foot suckers just dying to stay at my feet. Permanently. You loved sliding into my dm’s unannounced, and now I’m gonna slide my big pungent foot into you. Enjoy, fuckwit. I know I will.

[senseandaccountability]

“It takes the wrong sort to put the world right.”

A huge problem for me with the tone of the narrative is that outside a very carefully curated playthrough experience with preconceived ideas of and love for Solas, Veilguard is probably the least compassionate game I’ve played in forever, while spouting out lines about how everyone can find a new path in life because our nature isn’t written in stone, our fates are our own, as well as plenty of HR department lines about working together as a team.

“It takes the wrong sort to put the world right.” The game says that, but it definitely doesn’t mean it. At least I don’t feel it. You are so very rarely challenged in your idea of who this wrong sort is and what they could bring to the table. Davrin speaks of the Wardens recruiting at the Gallows but you meet only adorable, righteous and charming ones. The Crows aren’t the wrong sort anymore, they’re just adorably Antivan upper class. And so on and so forth. Rook certainly isn’t the wrong sort either, they’re mentally around 19 years old and stumbling their way through the world like some romance novel protag. In one of the most thematically shallow plots, Rook gets thrown into a prison of regret fit to hold a god but unlike Solas, Rook doesn’t do regrets or guilt because Rook isn’t that complex. Rook hasn’t been allowed to feel any guilt for three acts, just how are they meant to be stuck in a regret prison?  

Compare with Origins where you yourself could be just that wrong sort that would put the world right. ALL of my Origins PCs would get stuck in Solas’s prison due to the weight of their own fuckups. If not during the game events where you could make shitty moves en masse, then because of their origin stories. Brosca and Tabris would get out of there through sheer fury alone - fuck you, I am a wreck because YOU MADE ME ONE, WORLD OF THEDAS - but the nobles would stew. Amell would loop in some guilt trip regarding blood magic and Jowan and whatnot.

Compare with Origins where Loghain is a piece of shit for most of the narrative. He actively wants to kill you and your Order, it’s nothing personal (okay, a little personal) but he just needs you gone. If you want to, you can hack and slash your way through some release there and just have him executed. BUT the game also challenges you on that idea. It presents a very pragmatic alternative that comes with a very plausible downside (you lose Alistair). It presents not excuses but explanations - do with them what you will. Loghain has people in his corner through the entire trilogy, arguing his case. Cauthrien FALLS TO HER KNEES before you, pleading to spare his life. Threnn in DAI will stan him for the rest of her life. Anora tells you stories about the man behind the name.  And Arl Eamon’s world view and idea of Loghain is shown to be more than a little self-serving when faced with the politics of the Landsmeet. Things around Loghain blur. In the Ostagar DLC they allow things to blur even further when Loghain’s pragmatism is countered by Wynne’s player character-moralism (ie “someone died, it’s always wrong if someone died even if that death prevented 9000000 deaths you KILLED someone!!!!!111”). Origins tells me - or hints at - why Loghain became the wrong sort, shows me ways in which he is also the right sort and leaves me wondering about him. Because the game is gritty and dark and weird but also yes, compassionate. If you execute him, Anora will mourn him because she loves him regardless. If you have him join the Wardens she will sit with him while he recovers because he is undeniably an asshole but he’s also her father who braided her hair and showed her the world. A good narrative never, ever forgets that.  Veilguard feels so different here, maybe it's just me. I'm pretty sure I'm almost done being salty now, I just... feel a lot about narratives.

[amirasainz]

I was wondering if you could write a Pierre x reader where it’s kinda like your lance one where they’re having a photo shoot but things get spicy

Oh my god. It's been so long since I wrote an Amira Sainz story. I thought this was the perfect opportunity to write one again.

Guys, you can always send me requests for anything❤️

Enjoy reading and send some requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

No Part 2

The Perfect Shot

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays shimmering off the azure waves surrounding the luxurious yacht. The gentle rocking of the boat created a soothing rhythm, the sound of laughter mingling with the soft lapping of water against the hull. Amira stood at the edge of the deck, the salty breeze playing with her long, dark hair. She wore a stunning black swimsuit that hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating her figure. The elegant jewellery she adorned sparkled like stars against her sun-kissed skin, while her high heels lent her an air of sophistication even on a yacht.

Pierre leaned against the railings, wearing nothing but stylish swimming trunks that showcased his athletic build. He adjusted his sleek sunglasses, his heart racing at the sight of Amira. They were friends, of course—he had spent many weekends with the Sainz family, enjoying their hospitality and bonding with Carlos. But today, it felt different; the atmosphere was charged with a tension that made Pierre’s palms sweat.

“Are you ready, Amira?” he called, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Just a second!” she replied, turning to face him, the sunlight illuminating her face. “I want to make sure I look perfect for these shots!”

Pierre stepped closer, trying to keep his composure. “You already look perfect. You’re going to steal the spotlight, not just from the yacht but from the ocean itself.”

Amira blushed slightly, her cheeks tinged with pink as she adjusted the necklace around her neck. “Stop it, you’re making me nervous!” She giggled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “This is just a fun photoshoot, right?”

“Fun? Absolutely! But also a chance for me to get some incredible pictures of you,” Pierre teased, stepping back to take a mental snapshot of her. “Just think of it as practice for when you become a model.”

“Me? A model?” Amira laughed, tilting her head in disbelief. “I think I’d trip and fall before the camera even clicked!”

“Not with me around to catch you,” Pierre shot back, his heart skipping at the thought. “Besides, you’ll be too busy stunning everyone with that smile of yours.”

With a playful eye roll, Amira joined him on the deck. “Okay, let’s get started before I change my mind!”

The photographer, a well-known professional with a reputation for capturing breathtaking moments, was already set up with his camera, ready to catch every smile, laugh, and spontaneous moment. “Alright, you two! Let’s get some warm-up shots. Amira, why don’t you sit on Pierre’s lap for the first pose?”

Amira’s eyes widened, and she shot a glance at Pierre. He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the rapid beating of his heart. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

With a hesitant smile, she sat down on his lap, her heart racing for entirely different reasons now. The warmth of Pierre’s body radiated against her, and she couldn’t help but notice how close they were. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“Perfect,” Pierre whispered, leaning in slightly so their faces were mere inches apart. “Just relax and have fun.”

As the camera clicked, Pierre wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her securely. “You know, you look absolutely stunning like this,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “The sea has nothing on your beauty.”

Amira giggled, feeling a thrill from the compliment. “You’re just saying that to make me blush!”

“I would never lie about something so important,” he replied, his tone playful yet sincere. “Trust me, you’re the highlight of my day.”

As they posed, Amira felt more comfortable, her laughter mingling with Pierre’s teasing remarks. He whispered sweet nothings that made her heart flutter, each comment bringing them closer. “What if I told you I’d never want to take my eyes off you?” he murmured, leaning closer.

“Is that a line?” she asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Maybe it’s a promise,” he replied softly, his eyes sparkling behind the lenses of his sunglasses.

After a few more poses, the photographer suggested they change locations to the front of the yacht. “Let’s try a more dynamic shot! Amira, stand at the edge while Pierre holds your waist from behind.”

Amira moved to the edge, her heart pounding as Pierre stepped behind her. She felt his hands at her waist, grounding her, and the ocean breeze blew her hair back dramatically. “Are you scared?” he asked, his voice low, sending shivers down her spine.

“A little,” she admitted, glancing back at him. “But I feel safe with you.”

“Good,” he replied, leaning in closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. “Just remember to breathe. And if you fall, I’ll catch you.”

The photographer snapped away, capturing the moments of joy, laughter, and undeniable chemistry between them. As Amira leaned forward to pose, Pierre’s grip tightened, and he couldn’t resist whispering, “You know, if you keep looking that beautiful, I might just have to keep you on this yacht forever.”

“Is that so?” she teased, her heart racing. “And what would we do here? Just take photos all day?”

Pierre chuckled, his face lighting up. “Well, I can think of a few other things…” His voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air, thick with tension.

“Oh really? Like what?” Amira prompted, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Like maybe having a little dance party on the deck, just us and the ocean,” he suggested, the playful glint in his eyes making her laugh. “Or a sunset picnic, where I can show you my cooking skills… or lack thereof.”

Amira’s laughter rang out, bright and genuine. “I’d love that, but we might need to stick to takeout unless you plan to burn the yacht down!”

“Touché! Let’s focus on the photoshoot for now,” Pierre said, laughing. “But remember, I have plenty of ideas.”

As they continued to pose, the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over everything. Pierre’s playful side came out as he tried to make Amira laugh in every shot, pulling funny faces and whispering the most ridiculous compliments. “You know, if you don’t stop being this cute, I might really fall for you,” he joked, though a part of him meant every word.

“Good luck with that! I’m pretty clumsy,” she replied, laughing as she adjusted her hair.

Pierre smirked, “Clumsy is charming! It’s like a bonus point in the dating world.”

“Oh really? Is that how it works?” Amira shot back, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“It’s my philosophy,” he said, “and I might just have to test it out someday.”

Amira felt a warmth spread through her at his words, a flutter of excitement dancing in her chest. “Maybe we should make a deal then,” she suggested, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“A deal?” Pierre raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yes! If you can make me laugh in the next few poses, I’ll agree to a sunset picnic,” she said, her smile infectious.

“Challenge accepted!” he grinned. “You won’t know what hit you.”

With renewed energy, they continued posing. Pierre made silly faces, spun around, and even tried to dance, making Amira laugh uncontrollably. The photographer captured every moment, but it was the chemistry between them that truly shone through the lens.

Finally, the photographer suggested a final pose as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange. “Let’s do something romantic. Amira, sit on the edge, and Pierre, come behind her again, but this time, wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close.”

Amira’s breath caught as she followed the direction. She perched on the edge of the yacht, feeling the cool breeze against her skin. Pierre stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his chest pressed against her back. “You’re going to fall!” she teased, turning her head to look at him.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck. “Just hold on tight.”

As they posed, Pierre leaned closer, his lips almost grazing her skin. “You know, this moment is perfect,” he murmured, a seriousness replacing the playfulness. “I can’t imagine sharing it with anyone else.”

Amira felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks. “You’re making me blush again!”

“That’s my job,” Pierre said, a playful smirk on his face. “Now smile for the camera, beautiful.”

As the photographer captured the moment, Amira turned her head slightly, and their lips brushed ever so lightly. Both froze, the air thick with tension as their eyes met. Pierre’s heart raced, and he felt a rush of boldness. “Amira, I…”

Before he could finish, Amira interrupted, her voice barely a whisper. “Maybe we should focus on the photos…”

But Pierre couldn’t resist the urge. “What if I told you I really like you, Amira? Like, a lot,” he confessed, his voice low and sincere.

Her eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight. “Really?” she asked, searching his face for sincerity.

“Absolutely. You’re amazing—funny, sweet, and beautiful. I can’t help it,” he admitted, his arms tightening around her as if to emphasize his words.

Amira felt a rush of warmth in her chest. “I had no idea you felt that

°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°••°

The conference room buzzed with energy as Carlos and Charles sat across from each other, going over strategy for the upcoming race. The air was thick with anticipation until Carlos's phone buzzed incessantly on the table.

“¿Qué demonios?!” Carlos exclaimed, his eyes widening as he glanced at the screen. Photos of Amira in her black swimsuit, giggling and wrapped in Pierre’s arms on the yacht, flooded his notifications.

“Carlos?” Charles asked, noticing the sudden shift in his friend’s demeanor.

Carlos stood up, pacing the room, his fists clenching. “¡Maldita sea! This is unacceptable!” he swore in Spanish, frustration boiling over. “What the hell was Pierre thinking?”

Charles, looking pale, muttered, “I didn’t know… I thought they were just friends…”

Carlos shot him a look, his protective instincts kicking in. “Just friends? Look at those pictures! He’s all over her!”

Charles buried his head in his hands, his world crumbling. “Oh my God, please, no... Amira, no,” he murmured, instinctively praying in Italian, “Per favore, proteggila!”

Fred, sitting at the head of the table, sighed heavily, clearly done with the chaos. “Calm down, Carlos! You’re acting like a child. We have a meeting!”

“Not until I deal with this,” Carlos shot back, determination etched on his face. “I’m going to strangle Pierre!”

“Calm down before you end up on the front page of the tabloids,” Fred replied, exasperated, rubbing his temples.

As Carlos continued to pace, Charles whispered a silent prayer for Amira’s safety and asked God to give him the chance to do a photoshoot with her next.